Anchor in the Storm
by MoonlightBreeze7
Summary: When Alec takes to pain to help himself deal with his parabatai's disappearance, Magnus is there to remind Alec that he loves him and he is never alone, not when he has Magnus. Set at the very beginning of City of Lost Souls. Contains mentions of self-harm in the form of excessive training without proper care. Malec slash. Rated T to be safe.


**Author's Note: I feel like it's been ages since I've posted a Malec fic. I just love parabatai feels so much that I almost forgot how much I love Malec, too. So, in order to rectify that, I wrote another Malec fic, and here's the kicker: this one is actually set in the Mortal Instruments series, not the TV show! Shocking, I know. It's set at the very beginning of City of Lost Souls. Anyways, I hope you like this! Please leave reviews, I love hearing what you guys think. As always, I hope you have a wonderful day/night!**

**~ Em**

"Alec!"

Alec ignored the hard, bordering on frantic, voice of his sister and continued his assault on his hands. One of the Institute's punching bags hung from a hook in the ceiling of the training room. It was black, firm, and currently slicked with thick, red blood. Alec refused to stop, though, not when his feelings and thoughts were screaming in his head, threatening to tip him over the edge and into what some might consider insanity. He reeled back and sent another stinging punch to the bag in front of him. He felt more than heard his knuckles split yet again, but he could tell his sister heard the tearing, for she drew in a sharp breath from her place at the door.

"Alec, _stop it_!"

He heard the crack in her voice, the way it shook as she implored him to cease his harmful behaviour. He knew he should listen to her. He knew he should stop. But it felt too good. The pain eased the chaos in his mind, the ice surrounding his heart, and made him feel less like a puppet on a string, controlled by outside forces that he could do nothing about.

This, this pain, this battery, he could control it, and that was more of a gift than he wanted to admit.

"If you don't stop right now, I'm calling Magnus!" Isabelle's voice was shrill and high, telling Alec that she truly was at her wit's end.

"Fine!" He acknowledged his sister for the first time since she'd found him in the training room, punching the bag without wrapping his hands first as he was supposed to. "Call him if you want. In fact, maybe you should! Maybe he should see this, see _me_." Alec laughed bitterly. "Maybe he should know what he's really getting himself into." He clenched his hands into fists and punched again, ignoring the steady _drip-drip-drip_ of crimson that slid down his bruised knuckles.

He heard Isabelle's high heels clicking against the linoleum floor as she turned away, presumably to follow through on her promise. He ground his teeth together harshly and his grip tightened until his nails were digging little half-moon crescents into his palms. He'd tried to keep this dark, ugly side of him away from his boyfriend. But now his parabatai was missing and Clary was on trial and everything that he thought he knew was being turned upside down. Without Jace, his brother, his best friend, he felt lost at sea without an anchor.

By the Angel, Alec couldn't even _feel_ him.

In all the years they'd been parabatai, Alec could count on one hand the number of times he and Jace had been separated by so much that he was unable to feel him through their bond. The bond served as a steady, comforting presence when they were away from each other; through it, Alec could feel Jace's heartbeat and if he was hurt, ensuring him that his brother was alive and well. He could see what Jace saw, where he was, and where he was going. They had fought through each other's eyes too many times to count, and it was almost second nature to Alec to reach out periodically and view things from Jace's perspective.

Now, unable to do that, unable to even feel his parabatai's presence, Alec felt lost and listless, almost empty in a way. He was desperate to feel _something_ other than the awful notion that his life and everything surrounding it was spiraling out of control.

The punching bag provided that.

For as long as Alec could remember, he'd been turning to the training room whenever he felt like he had lost his way. His parents were harsh, as most Shadowhunter parents were, but they were especially hard on him because he was the heir to the Lightwood name. They wanted him to be Head of the Institute someday, he knew. He wanted that too. However, their expectations had led him to believe, throughout the majority of his adolescence, that he had to adhere strictly to their rules and push aside his own happiness for the sake of everyone else's.

He had to be the best.

And he would be.

Alec distinctly remembered the day he had chosen his signature weapon. Izzy had her whip, Jace his seraph blades. He had a bow and arrows.

His parents had been so disappointed. They wanted him to be a fighter, on the front lines, rather than someone who stood back and fired arrows from a distance. Alec had learned from a young age that when his parents didn't like something, it took a long time to change their mind, if it could be changed at all. So, he began to train. If his weapon choice wasn't good enough for his parents, he could at least be the best at it.

He would train in the dead of the night, when everyone else was asleep, until his hands bled and his fingers were sliced beyond recognition by the bow string. He never allowed himself a single idle minute; every time he didn't have a responsibility or something that needed to be done, he wound up in the training room, firing arrows at a multitude of targets that lined the walls. It was through these extra efforts that Alec had become the best archer the Shadow World had ever seen. His skill with a bow and arrows rivaled no other, and his parents were finally proud of him, at least for a little while. So really, it was no surprise that Alec learned to associate his own pain with success, with happiness. In fact, it made total sense.

And then Alec met Magnus.

Like a sickness or a wayward lover, Magnus came in and swept Alec off of his feet, both literally and metaphorically. Magnus was the first person to tell Alec that he was worthy of love, that he deserved all of the things that he wished for, and that how he felt wasn't wrong or shameful. Alec fell so blindingly, beautifully, head-over-heels in love with the warlock that he was terrified of it at first. Eventually, though, he came to his senses and realised that, no matter what he did, he could never deny his feelings for Magnus. They were there and no matter how badly he tried to erase them, they would always be there.

That was the day that he stopped hiding who he really was and kissed Magnus in front of the entire Clave. That was the day that his life changed for the better, the day that he stopped caring what other people thought of him and learned to embrace himself for who he was.

Alec thought that, once he had Magnus, completely and for good, his days of bruising his hands bloody in the training room would be over. But he had never expected to lose Jace.

Now, alone in the room with only the white, unyielding walls of the New York Institute to keep him company, Alec had never felt more unsure of himself. He hadn't realised, up until that point, just how much his connection with Jace meant to him. Without his parabatai, he was hesitant on his feet. His arrows were off-center, his slices weren't deep enough, and his movements weren't as fast as they were with Jace by his side.

And no matter how much Magnus had changed him, Alec would never be able to crush the ingrained, first-born Shadowhunter instinct his parents had drilled into him that this was _not_ acceptable.

He threw another harsh blow to the punching bag. A grim sort of satisfaction lit his face in a smirk when the bag arced away from him, circling once before coming to a stop in front of him. His knuckles were covered in blood, and bruises ringed his wrists and hands. Little cuts from his nails littered his palms, bleeding sluggishly as he crashed his fists into the bag again and again.

A sudden intake of breath from behind him caused Alec to whirl around, raising his bow to fire at the intruder. He lowered it when he saw the slim figure resting in the doorway.

Magnus stood just inside the training room, leaning on a pillar, dressed in a sparkling shirt and tight leather pants. His eyelids shone with glitter and his hair was spiked up and gelled, as usual. His face, however, held only unmasked concern and love as he stared at Alec with his bloodied hands and sweaty, matted black hair. The green-gold, catlike eyes swept over the black punching bag, slick with evidence of Alec's brutal attack on it, and Alec's t-shirt, soaked through with sweat and drops of crimson from his hands.

"Alexander," Magnus murmured, moving to meet him halfway across the training room. Alec clasped his hands behind his back, ashamed that Magnus was seeing him in such a state. His feelings from before were gone; he _definitely_ cared what Magnus thought of him. He itched to keep punching, keep hurting, until he drowned in the pain-drenched oblivion, but the fear of Magnus's reaction to this kept his hands away from the punching bag.

Magnus took a deep breath as he reached Alec's side. He ran plum-painted fingernails through Alec's hair, brushing the sweaty strands away from his forehead gently. He didn't say anything, for which Alec was grateful. He needed a minute to collect his loud, jumbled thoughts. He wasn't sure what Magnus wanted from him, anyway. An explanation? An apology? An acknowledgment of what had just happened? He wasn't sure he could offer even one, if any, of those.

Luckily, Magnus spoke before Alec had the chance to assume. "Izzy called me." When his words were met with a silence that buzzed with restless energy, Magnus elaborated on his statement. "I'm glad she did."

"Why?" Alec's voice was hoarse, but Magnus heard him, loud and clear.

"I never want you to feel like you have to hurt yourself," Magnus said firmly. His hands moved from Alec's hair to his cheeks, gently cupping his face in the palms of his hands. Alec sighed and leaned into the touch. "You always have me to talk to, Alec. I know it's not the same, and I know that it is not easy, but I wish you would. I understand." He gestured to the punching bag behind them. "I've been there myself. I want you to know that you are never alone, and there is nothing you could say that would ever make me think any less of you."

Alec felt tears brim in his eyes, and he blinked them away quickly before Magnus could see. "Thank you," he whispered. He let his eyes flutter closed and felt himself relax for the first time in weeks, ever since Jace had gone missing.

His hands were still discoloured with bruises and stained with blood, but he felt infinitesimally better with his boyfriend so near. He still felt the absence of Jace clearly, almost painfully, but he also felt another presence, almost as powerful, hovering in front of him with gentle strokes and deep purple fingernails.

Alec found himself feeling suddenly and forcefully grateful for Magnus Bane.

"I love you, Alexander," Magnus breathed, brushing his lips over Alec's own. This kiss, unlike so many of the ones before it, was soft and tender. Alec's mouth moved in perfect sync with Magnus's, trying to convey his love for this beautiful, kind man without words. When they broke away, panting, Alec rested his forehead against Magnus's and closed his eyes.

"I love you, too," he whispered into the soft creases of caramel-coloured skin. "So much, Mags."

Magnus tilted Alec's head up to meet his ice-blue eyes, purple-painted fingernails gripping his chin tightly. "I know you're hurting right now. I know I can't take that pain away. If I could, I would. I would bring Jace back to you in a heartbeat, if that was within my power to do. But it isn't. All I can do is be here for you, try to make your burden a little bit lighter. Please let me do that, Alexander. Please let me be here for you."

Alec nodded once, barely. "Yeah." He leaned into Magnus's embrace, and the warlock wrapped his arms securely around Alec's middle. Alec crumpled into Magnus, allowing himself to soak up the comfort that the taller man offered.

When Magnus pulled back just enough to touch his lips to Alec's again, Alec felt the last of his feelings of being adrift fade into nothingness. He was still lost, yes; without his parabatai, Alec would always be lost. But he had a safe place now, at least for tonight, somewhere to weather the storm.

As he always had and always would, Magnus had proven himself to be Alec's anchor yet again.


End file.
